EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is the 50th in a series of stories adapted from William Kelley’s book, “Wind Socks, Grass Strips, and Tail-Draggers,” which is available for purchase at The News, 130 Park Place in downtown Alpena. Last week, Kelley spent the night in a jail cell in Jacksonville, Illinois when he had nowhere else to sleep.

Promptly at 5:00, the jailor came to unlock the door and wake me.

I put on my shoes and took a couple pictures of my night’s lodgings after the jailor had gone upstairs.

“You know, you’re lucky,” the jailor said when I entered the room.

“How’s that?”

“This is the best jail in the state,” he said, a broad smile on his face, a smile of pride.

“Wow. I feel honored.”

“It’s brand new. You were one of the first customers.”

When I was ready to go to the airport, I planned to hitch a ride with a patrol car, but was told that is against county policy. I had to pay $1.25 for a cab.

Flight Service was in Vandalia, a few miles away. When I called, they told me the area had low, overcast clouds. At South Bend, Indiana, the clouds disappeared and it was clear from there northward.

The weather seemed to be good enough for me to continue on to Grand Rapids, Michigan.

I thanked everyone for their hospitality and took off.

There was a lazy-looking river along my route, so I followed it. I wasn’t too high above the river, so I could see it well. I dreamed of fishing on it on that quiet Sunday morning.

Farms passed below me. They were like pictures painted on a green and blue background. With my altitude, I could see everything in the farmyards. I had a bird’s-eye view. The mood of the morning, the end of a pleasant trip, and the low, overcast sky all blended into a feeling of raw emotion.

I felt as though I could feel all the emotions experienced by those over which I flew. This peace and serenity gripped me in a semi-hypnotic state as I flew into lowering overcast.

The farther north I flew, the lower the clouds became. The air was glass smooth from the stagnant air in the area.

Near a little town on the Illinois River called Havana, the ceiling dropped drastically. I headed toward Bloomington. The chart indicated the distance wasn’t far.

When I left the river, the ceiling was at 500 feet, but dropped to 300 or 400 feet as I neared Bloomington. The visibility, too, decreased. I entered a warm front, with deteriorating conditions. It was like flying between a layer of broth and another layer of soup.

I saw a break in the overcast and decided to go above the clouds. I climbed up. It was clear above 2,000 feet. The weather briefer had said it was clear north of South Bend. I thought of the unforecast thunderstorms the previous day. I descended. There could be embedded thunderstorms that would take the plane apart.

I was close to panic. Then I saw a gray strip of concrete beneath me. I decided to land on it. Street or runway, I had landed on strips 1,200 feet long, and the concrete beneath me looked that long. Just as I entered a pattern to land, a pickup truck turned onto what was a street.

I aborted the landing.

Here I was so close to home, after all those miles, and it may all end right here.

The clouds lowered. Visibility worsened. I could not see the airport. Towers were in the area. I sweat profusely.

In a couple minutes, I saw the end of runway zero-three.

I landed and taxied to the fuel pumps. A fuel truck drove up.

“You want fuel?” the driver asked as he climbed out of the truck.

I tried to speak, but couldn’t. I nodded affirmative. Several minutes passed before I could speak. I was some shook up.

A crowd of young people stood near the counter and several sat on chairs along the wall when I walked into the office. One young guy turned to me as the door closed.

“What runway did you use?” he asked.

“Zero-three,” I said. “Why?”

“That’s good. The other one is under construction. There are trucks and paving machines all along the east-west runway.”

“That could have been a real exciting landing,” another of them said.

“This morning has had all the excitement I need for one day,” I said.

I told them about the storm the previous day and low clouds that morning.

We chatted about planes and flying. Several of the young people were students at the airport. We shared experiences. I had a candy bar and a bottle of pop while I waited for conditions to improve.

It was near noon when I left the ground.

As I headed north, I reminded myself that I needed to have a serious talk with myself about some of the foolish episodes I had encountered in such a short flying career.

The sky was clear at South Bend. It remained clear along the eastern shore of Lake Michigan.

There was a Cessna 180 at the South Haven Airport, so, when I reached it, I landed to check on the plane. The propeller was removed for repair work, but the plane looked good. The owner wasn’t there, so I just hopped back in the 140 and continued toward Grand Rapids.

Check The News next week for the next installment. William Kelley was a teacher for 32 years and has been a pilot since 1966. He lives in Herron on the family farm where he was born and raised.